In Death, Sacrifice
by Baleful Eyes
Summary: There are six, but only one can become the Grey Warden needed to save Ferelden from the coming Blight. The others will be left to their own fates since Duncan is not there to save them. Their endings are tragic, but in return for the downfall of five of these individuals, one will go on to save the world.
1. The Mage

_Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests __**never**__ end._

These words came to her mind the second she saw Jowan cut his hand and use blood magic. The Pride demon's final taunt, and for a brief moment, Neria Surana wondered if it had known that she would end up in that awful situation. Demons were powerful creatures; who's to say they couldn't see the future, too? She had helped Jowan retrieve his phylactery, believing him when he had assured her that he was not a blood mage.

She had been so relieved to finally return to the Circle. The scars Aeonar had left her with did their damage, a terrifying experience she would never be able to forget. She had told them that Jowan threatened her, threatened to kill her if she led them to the templars. She had told them that she planned on leading Jowan to the templars anyway, that she had tried to lead him to the wrong place, unsuccessfully.

They believed her lie. Yes, it was a lie, but so what? Jowan had lied to her. Why should she take the fall for him? He was just some manipulative shem; the same as any shem. it didn't matter that he was a mage, because he was a human, and to him, she was just a knife ear. That's what she kept telling herself. And they'd let her return. After so much waiting, they had finally let her return.

And then she wished she was back in prison. Demons roamed the tower, either killing people or turning them into abominations. Neria locked herself into a room with a group of other mages. They needed to conserve their energy.

Eadric would be the first to keep watch, but Neria was restless; she couldn't sleep, and so she urged Eadric to get his rest and let her stay up instead. The mages locked in the room were all asleep, save for a few apprentices who were still too shaken. Neria closed her eyes, but kept her ears open for any noise, tried to sense if any abominations drew near. In the darkness she heard a familiar voice.

_You__'_re scared, aren't you?

Yes. She was.

_You feel betrayed, don't you? Jowan turned to blood magic, and now so has the rest of the tower. You always end up getting caught in the middle of things._

Yes, she did, didn't she? It wasn't fair.

_That's right, it's __**not **__fair. And now you're trapped like an animal, cornered up and trying to escape. You can't even __**defend **__yourself. It's not a fair fight._

That's right. Mouse was right. He had tried to trick her before, fed her lies about being an apprentice, but now he spoke the truth. Neria was the _victim _here; she was always the victim. Constantly persecuted, either for being a mage or for being an elf. She was surrounded by shemlen who were always lying to her, deceiving her. And now the apprentices, who she was supposed to be a mentor to, were in danger, and there was nothing she could do.

_There is one way._

Neria knew.

_You just have to __**want**__ to let me in._

He had told her this once before, saying that by doing so, she could help free him, a supposed mage, from forever roaming the Fade. She had seen through it; Neria could tell that Mouse had been trying to trick her. But now, now _he _could help _her_, and in turn, she could help both the others and herself.

So the young elf relaxed herself, perfectly calm as she willingly let him in, and was enveloped by the darkness.

_Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests __**never**__ end._

And Neria had just failed the most important test of all.


	2. The Dale

"Oh, thank the Creators," came a familiar voice.

"Huh?" the young elf sat up, quickly regretting doing so. Her head reeled in pain, and she held it in her hands as if it would still the agony.

"Do not rush yourself, da'len."

Her eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness, Lyna looked around her, trying to deduce where she was. The camp. Had it been just a dream then? So why were the Keeper and Ashalle knelt down next to her, their eyes filled with concern.

"What… what happened?" Lyna dared to ask. She looked around her once again before addressing the Keeper with another question. "Where is Tamlen?"

The Keeper frowned. "So you do not know. I had worried this much.  
"When you and Tamlen did not return from your hunt, I sent Chandan and Pol out to look for the two of you. They discovered you outside of a cave, unconscious, but Tamlen was nowhere to be found."

"What?" said Lyna, her voice a whisper, just barely audible to the Keeper and Ashalle.

"I'm so sorry, da'assan," Ashalle said, gently placing her hand onto Lyna's head and stroking her long, dark locks.

"The ruins," Lyna immediately replied, earning a confused look from the elder elves. "Tamlen and I, some shemlen told us that they had found an elven ruin in a cave. Tamlen and I went into the cave; it was all so… strange. The architecture, it barely looked elven, and then we found a mirror. It seemed almost unreal. Tamlen looked into it, and he said he saw something. Then he went to touch the mirror and I, I tried to stop him, but… that's all I remember. We have to find Tamlen. We have to find him!"

"Very well," the Keeper said after a moment. "Gather what you will need. I shall speak to Merrill."

Lyna hurriedly grabbed her weapons, which Ashalle had taken from her when she was unconscious. Once she had done so, she hurried to the Keeper, who had just finished speaking with Merrill.

"So are we to go now?" Merrill inquired. Lyna nodded, confirming Merrill's statement. Lyna wasn't exactly close with Merrill, but then, no one in the Saebra clan was. Merrill was the Keeper's First, and though Marethari had never admitted it, everyone knew Merrill was her favorite. Merrill was different, but for the moment, Lyna didn't care. All she cared about was finding Tamlen.

But she didn't.

"But Keeper, we can't destroy it!"

"We can and we will," the Keeper said firmly. "You saw that mirror, did you not? It was corrupted. You said yourself that there were darkspawn in the ruins, and now that poor child is ill. The Eluvian is tainted, by the darkspawn, I would assume. It took Tamlen away from us, and now it very well may end up taking Mahariel. We cannot allow it to remain standing. I have already sent Harshal and several others to the ruins. I ordered them to destroy the Eluvian."

"But you can't!" Merrill objected. "It's a piece of our history! Think of all it could teach us!"

"I swore to myself that I would protect that child," came a voice. It was Ashalle, who had just exited the tent where Mahariel was resting, "and I fear that I won't be able to. That mirror must be destroyed."

"We could fix it!" Merrill insisted.

"Whatever knowledge it holds is not worth the risks," Marethari said firmly.

"If you will excuse me, I am going to retire for the night," said Ashalle. Marethari nodded, and the elven woman solemnly walked away.

"Merrill, I am going to see if the others have returned," said Marethari. "Please check on Mahariel."

Merrill nodded and pulled aside the drape of the tent and knelt down next to her kinsman.

"I am here, lethallan," said Merrill.

"Merrill, please…"

"What is it?"

"Don't do it, Merrill. That mirror, it took Tamlen," Mahariel said. Merrill waited for her to say more, to go on to say how the mirror had made her ill, but the young Dale said nothing. She cared only for Tamlen, Merrill realized. What was it like to have someone like that? Someone to care for, someone who cared for you. Merrill wouldn't know.

"I won't," Merrill lied.

"I pray you mean it," Mahariel said. The elf was pale, sweat running down her face. Merrill felt her head, still hot, deathly so. Mahariel grunted in pain, her skin tingled, no, more than that. It felt as though she was being stabbed by a thousand knives, and her skin itched to the point that she wanted to scratch until all her flesh was gone. "I can't do this anymore."

"What do you mean?" Merrill said, worry managing to find its way into her tone.

"This pain," Mahariel elaborated. "Please, Merrill, end it."

"You can't be serious," Merrill said.

"I am! I am, so just do it!" Mahariel begged. "Tamlen's gone now. He's dead, I just know it. I don't want to live without him. Everything hurts. I'm going to die anyway, so please, just kill me, Merrill, please."

"I, I can't," Merrill said. "You can't ask me to do this. I… I won't, I…" But even in the dim light, Merrill could see the pained, pleading expression on Mahariel's face, and felt herself cave in. "Fine… I'll do it… Creators forgive me."

"Just, just cast a spell on me," Mahariel said. "I'm dying anyway; they won't be able to tell."

Merrill placed her hand on the sickly elf, her heart pounding rapidly in her head.

"You know, I was wrong about you," Mahariel said. Merrill's eyes widened in shock. "We all are. You're so distant, it makes you seem cold. Everyone feels that you're the Keeper's favorite, but…"

Merrill couldn't hear anymore, Mahariel's words were kind, but they hurt Merrill more than any insult ever could. Merrill whispered some words, and she could feel Mahariel's life draining from her. Mahariel stared at her blankly, but rather than curse the First, she smiled. "Thank you… lethallan."

When her breaths stopped altogether, Merrill held back a sob and closed her clansman's eyes. Feeling the tears stinging in her eyes, a few managing to escape, Merrill shut her eyes tightly, and made a new promise.

"I won't let your death be in vain."


	3. The Prince

He trudged along barefoot on the dirt. Though he hadn't been walking long and he wasn't being weighed down by the heavy armor he normally wore, he felt as though he had been walking for days. He looked around him, noticing splotches of black ichor on the walls and the ancient architecture. A sign that he was nearing darkspawn territory, if he wasn't mistaken. Yet he didn't bother turning back. It's not as though it was any safer in the other direction. Either to be another victim of the darkspawn or a tasty snack for some deepstalker or giant spider that roamed the Deep Roads.

Was this how it was to end? To die at the hands of the darkspawn, his body left to rot in the ancient chasms. Few had to endure such a fate, even the Legion. When a member died they were returned to the Stone by their comrades, save the last who died, left unburied, never to rest in peace. He was to die as a casteless legionnaire would, he, the prince.

And worst of all his treacherous brother Behlen would live on, and if Behlen had no problem killing one of his brothers and selling out the other, who knows what he had planned for their father, the king. The Aeducan line was dying out, and Duran would never see his family again, not even in death. He could never apologize to Trian, or to his mother, who he hardly remembered.

He'd been walking for several hours before he collapsed to the ground, an overwhelming sensation coursing through his body. A searing pain and an unbearable itch climbed up his arm. He scratched and scratched to no avail, and for a moment considered chopping off his arm in order to end the pain. There was little light in the dwarven ruins he was currently in, save for some glowing plants here and there and the dim light given off by a pool of lava. He scooted over towards the river to sit by the warm air it gave off, and the light was enough for him to look at his arm and see what had happened. Maybe he came into contact with some sort of plant that had irritated his skin. He could see nothing on his arm, however, due to a layer of soot coating it.

He used the rags he was wearing to wipe at his arm, but when he took it away he saw that nothing had come off. He ran a finger over the black substance on his arm, shuddering when he felt a cool, slimy surface. He scratched at it, he continued scratching furious until he realized that it wasn't coming off. He could barely hear the sound of his heavy breaths of panic over the strange melody playing in his head. The melody was oddly soothing, a beautiful symphony, a song recited in an unfamiliar language, almost like a lullaby that was reaching out to him. It told him to calm down, not to worry. It told him the pain would come and go, and that all would be well.

It was comforting at first, but eventually the tune became deafening, and it beckoned him to come to it, but Duren didn't know where to go.

He writhed in pain on the stone floor, scratching madly all over his body, wanting to rip off all of his skin to stop the itch until finally he passed out. It went on like that for a while, drifting in and out of consciousness and eventually not sure of what was going on at all.

It was odd. Despite however long he had been laying there, he felt no thirst nor hunger, as if some other force were sustaining him. The song was quieter now, but still clearly audible, and he set out to find it. After hours of wandering he ran into a group of genlocks, for some reason not surprised to see them in the least, as if he had sensed their approach. The genlocks made no move to attack him; they seemed slightly skeptical at first before walking past the prince to continue their search for the song which beckoned them all.

Duran ran to catch up with the genlocks, determined to help them in their journey. A journey which Daren, now a ghoul, had in common with the darkspawn.

Once again, Duren was an unknowing pawn in another man's game.


End file.
